


At the Crossroads Waiting

by LadyoftheShield



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 07:12:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2842544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyoftheShield/pseuds/LadyoftheShield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loren remembers things she should not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the Crossroads Waiting

As she stopped at the red traffic light, the smell of a fresh cinnamon broom wafted through the car. In the back seat, Tobias sneezed again and began to fuss. With a chuckle, Loren opened the front windows by a fraction. The autumn breeze swept the cloying aroma of cinnamon from the car. Freed of the thick scent, Tobias quieted to a content gurgle.

“We’re almost home, Tobias,” she said, tapping her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel.  

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the creature for an instant. A stooped figure stood amidst the sea of crowded cars, shining with luminous blue light. Its eyes met hers, then flicked to Tobias. A smiled crossed its face as the light turned green. Loren slammed on the gas and shot into the intersection. The man flicked his fingers.

Then the world exploded in breaking glass and shrieking metal. The car tumbled. Over and over they went, clothes in a washing machine, pebbles in a rushing river. Next she knew, Loren lay crushed in a tomb of steel.

The small blue man nodded curtly, and her sight faded. Around her, the smell of cinnamon strengthened as her son cried.

**

The face of her son is a messy blob, fine blond hair and brown skin mix like paint before her eyes. His skin is soft and warm against her cold arms as she cradles her squirming baby. Tobias. A name she chose, Alan tells her as she lies nestled in the crisp hospital sheets, a name that means __. It is a good name, she thinks, as his palm brushes her cheek. But it means nothing to her.

Tobias. Alan. They are jut names. Flat, empty things with no hold over her. Alan’s voice breaks when he speaks, and she reaches out, groping for his shoulder. But she feels nothing between them. No spark. Nothing.

As time passes- some days at a crawl, others at a sprint- a few things return, slowly.

Alan returns. Or rather the sensation of his shaggy blue fur tangled in her fingers, a delicate hand clasped in hers. Now there is just smooth skin and strong fingers. Her sight is going, and her memories bleach to white in many places, but she remembers things she has no words for.

Loren remembers the slug crawling in her ear. (Disgust helplessness loathing- all inadequate to capture this broken sick feeling)

Loren remembers her hair and nails sprouting like beans. (Wonder fear- what will my parents think? How did we get this far- Questions that will never be answered)

Loren remembers the feeling of Alan’s hairy hand brushing against her face. (Nothing captures this feeling- safe warm but that feeling fades as she remembers a flash of cold blue in the intersection, a smile that seemed both sad and gleeful)

These are things that cannot exist- should not exist. But she knows they are real as the  ground under her feet. But when she asks Alan about it, he shrugs them off. “Forget them,” he says quietly, “they are nothing but a dream.”

This is not true. At night she dreams of a flaming red eye on a metal throne. Dreams are shattered and lost. They do not endure, they do not persist in whispering and hissing while she sleeps, only to fade away while she sleeps.

Alan has fur. Alan is a human. The blue man. The red eye. Her son, and the hawk that flies over his cradle. They are not dreams. They return, over and over, and yet they cannot be memory.

There are days where she wonders if she is going mad. Others, the line is bright and clear. Either way, the eye whispers to wait. And wait she does, until Tobias turns thirteen.

**

It was a simple miscommunication. Alan thought she was picking him up, she thought he was. They didn’t realize the truth until Alan came home without Tobias. Calls to his phone went unanswered, yet before the panic could set in, they heard the bang of the screen door, and the squeak of the hinges. As he came through the door almost at a run, she stood, worry stabbing in her chest. Tobias’ breath hissed like a harmonica, and his feet scampered like a frightened mouse. When she touched his shoulder, he was shaking.

“Son, what happened?” Alan asked, “Why didn’t you call us.”

Tobias swallowed, then cleared his throat. “It- it was nothing,” he said in a whisper, “I just- wanted to walk home.”

“Nothing?” she echoed, and heard Alan’s shirt rustle as he crossed his arms. Under his father’s gaze, Tobias quailed with a deep, nervous breath.

“We were walking home,” he said at last, “Me and a few of the others.” He paused, in answer to Loren’s unspoken question. “Marco and Jake. The usual suspects. Anyway, we- we  cut through the park, and came across some kids. They were torturing a hawk.”

If he noticed Loren’s grip tighten, he did not let on. “They were burning it alive. Talking about eating it. We chased them off, but it died anyway. We couldn’t do anything. We couldn’t save him.”

Tobias burst into tears, sobbing into Loren’s shoulder. She shared a look with Alan. “Things die every season, Tobias,” Alan said quietly, putting a hand on his son’s shoulder, “it can’t be helped.”

“They killed him,” Tobias said, anger cracking his gentle voice, “they killed him.”

“If you know who they are,” Loren said, “we can report them.”

“I didn’t see their faces,” Tobias admitted. He had stopped trembling, but he was still sniffling. “I just- I just want to sleep.”

“Go,” Alan said quietly. Tobias’ footsteps faded.

Later that night, when she went to bed, Loren heard him whispering on the phone. She could not make out what he was saying, but the solemnity of his voice sent unease crackling down her spine. Knocking on his door, she heard him whisper something frantically, then open the door.

“Mom?”

“Don’t stay up all night, Tobias,” she said, kissing his forehead gently.

He did not pull away with a disgusted explanation as he always did. He pulled her into a hug and leaned his head against her shoulder. “I love you mom,” he whispered, “I love you.”

“Honey, what’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he repeated with a whisper, “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

**

The pendulum on their grandfather clock had frozen. Time had stopped around them.

Sitting on the couch, the nothlit turned to look at the Ellimist. His blue figure floated serenely over the floor, his face impassive.

“Your son now bears the burden you should have carried. And you cannot aid him. Not any longer.” The Ellimist paused, some alien emotion flickering in his eyes. “Do you regret the deal you made with Crayak?”

Elfangor turned to look behind him. Loren’s golden hair fanned out behind her, a comet’s tail to the shining star of her face as she stood, frozen mid stride to Tobias’ room.

“No,” he said quietly, “I do not.”

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
